A Different Sameness
by Marg Hammerman
Summary: Days after Kitty returns to the X-Men, she and Kurt wake up naked in each other's arms and aren't entirely sure how they got there. Will their relationship become easier or infinitely more complicated? Sequel to Parts of a Whole.
1. Morning

**Quick Summary:** Days after Kitty returns to the X-Men, she and Kurt wake up naked in each other's arms and aren't entirely sure how they got there. Will their relationship become easier or infinitely more complicated? Sequel to _Parts of a Whole_.

**Longer Summary:** This is set in the comics universe, somewhere around Uncanny X-Men #444 (when the X.S.E. is formed) and the beginning of Whedon's Astonishing X-Men (when Kitty returns to the X-Men, but just before the mutant cure happens or Colossus is resurrected). This is a sequel of sorts to another story of mine, called, _Parts of a Whole_. You don't necessarily have to read that one first, but if you enjoy this one, you'll definitely like that one, too :)

As always—review if you like, but most of all enjoy!

And be sure to check out part 3: _Whole into Parts_!

**Disclaimer #1:** I don't own any of the X-Men or make a dime from imagining their between-panel exploits.

**Disclaimer #2:** Even when I don't indicate is specifically, my heroes always practice safe sex.

**A Different Sameness**

**Chapter 1: Morning**

For several seconds, Kurt heard the buzzing as part of what he thought was a dream. It was his favourite type, in which his arms and tail were entwined around the warm, naked body of a beautiful woman. Eyes blinking open wearily into a hangover-hazed consciousness, he realized it wasn't a dream at all, and the body next to his was not anonymous. With a rush of remembrance and anxiety he realized that his arms and tail weren't hugging just any naked woman; his hand was nestled between the breasts, his tail curled around the bent thigh, of a naked Kitty Pryde, groaning now as her arm crawled out from under the blankets to mash the alarm clock into silence.

"Hey..." she mumbled, giggling sleepily as he uncoiled his tail a bit too quickly. "That tickles..."

Taking his attempt to extricate himself as an invitation to greater comfort, she rolled over and collapsed onto his chest as he released her body, rubbing her face against the grain of his fur while her hand stroked his ribs. Kurt released a slow breath as her smooth, firm body snuggled into his. He considered how easy it would be to forget his misgivings and surrender back into oblivion under her touch, his mind drifting back to a series of scattered memories of the night before...

_...fingernails cutting through his fur... heavy weight of hair on his face... a firm, sure grip sweeping down his tail..._

Kurt forced his eyes open, squeezing Kitty gently as he whispered softly into her ear.

"Katzchen... your alarm..."

With another groan, Kitty stirred. Her hand grew still against his side as he felt her breathing get quicker and lighter, eyelashes flickering against his chest. Then, in a sudden flurry of movement, she pushed herself upright, eliciting a small sound of protest from Kurt on behalf of the clumsy elbow she unknowingly delivered to his breastplate. Propped up with one hand pressed awkwardly against Kurt's chest, she made a quick survey of her surroundings. Looking up at Kitty's immodestly exposed breasts hovering above him, Kurt couldn't quite resist the lopsided grin that spread across his face.

"Good morning to you, too."

Kitty's eyes shot downwards as though she became fully aware of his presence only at that moment. She dove quickly back into the bed, folding her arms under her breasts, over the sheet.

"So I guess this isn't a dream?" she asked.

"If it is, we're having the same one," he offered.

The joke didn't seem to register with Kitty, whose face maintained a blank, unreadable expression as she stared up at the ceiling. Fighting warring compulsions to offer a comforting touch or teleport miles away, Kurt settled for trying to talk.

"I guess we should... talk about what..."

"We don't... you don't have to if...

"No, it's okay... I mean, I didn't..."

"Me neither, but..."

Their fractured attempts to speak disintegrated quickly into a silence neither one of them, full consciousness returned, seemed equipped to breach. In addition to a growing headache, Kurt felt a cold shroud descending over his heart with the emergence of an unwanted thought he couldn't quite keep out: _This was a mistake_...

"Katzchen, I..."

He was interrupted by a knock on the door, resounding like a klaxon through the too-quiet room. They both listened to a second round of knocking before either of them could think what to do.

"Who is..."

Kurt's question was interrupted by Scott Summers' voice from the other side of the door. "Kitty? Are you in there? Is everything okay?"

"Damn it!" Kitty hissed, hurling herself out of bed and calling in the direction of the door, "I'm fine, Scott! Just overslept. Give me two secs."

Keeping his eyes discretely averted from the spectacle of the fully naked Kitty rifling through her closet for a spare uniform, Kurt got out of bed and started to gather his own scattered clothes off the floor.

By the time Kitty emerged from the bathroom a few seconds later, Kurt and all trace of him were gone. Kitty paused for a moment, staring at the rumpled pile of bedsheets. A series of fragmented, alcohol-hazed memories flickered through her brain as she tried to decide whether to be angry or grateful to Kurt for his disappearing act.

_...her thumb dipping into a heavy velvet crease of bellybutton... the forked tip of a tail swishing between her shoulder blades... the tickle of lips and fur behind her ear..._

"Kitty?"

"I'm here, Scott!" Kitty called, hurrying to the door. "Sorry for the delay. Stayed up too late, I guess."


	2. Afternoon: Kitty

**Chapter 2: Afternoon: Kitty**

_It wasn't supposed to happen this way._

Even after a morning of Danger Room and workouts, a team lunch briefing in the company of Emma Frost, and a full afternoon helping Hank in the lab, Kitty couldn't keep that thought from forming a continuous loop inside her brain.

_It wasn't supposed to happen this way._

By five pm, it had begun to lose all meaning even as it became something of a mantra, a strangely calming reassurance of how completely she'd screwed everything up. It was reassuring because it kept her from surrendering to another, opposite, thought: _It was worth it…_

The night before at the party—a kind of combined "launch party" for the new teams, Scott's and the X.S.E. headed up by Ororo—wasn't the first time Kitty had seen Kurt since returning. That distinction belonged to a few days before and an awkward encounter on the staircase, Kurt coming down, Kitty coming up, literally carrying her suitcase. For a flickering second, Kurt looked disconcerted to see her, hesitating mid-step, the nervous darting of his golden eyes obvious despite his invisible pupils. However, he quickly transformed into a seamless version of his most chivalrous self, helping her carry her bag to her room, offering to help her unpack, and finally welcoming her back with a friendly, meaningful shoulder-squeeze before promising they'd catch up soon—all the while smiling profusely, of course, flashing his thousand-watt, fang-tipped teeth like a weapon of good natured-ness. Kitty was familiar with the act; it was usually the kind of performance Kurt gave to pretty girls he was meeting for the first time and wanted to make a good impression on despite having no real expectation of seeing them again.

As she'd smiled dutifully and equally good-naturedly back at him, agreeing to the vague, obligatory promise of catching up "soon," Kitty seethed with exasperation, furious and yet distantly thankful that he seemed to be going to such pains to ignore their last encounter many months before, when she'd kissed him and he'd run away, promised to come back, and never had. If she was thankful, though, it was only because she felt she deserved her pain. As much as she was able to hate Kurt, she hated herself more, hating that it was the legacy of her own teenage stupidity hanging over everything that made her unable to wholly blame Kurt for his objectively dickish behaviour. His blowing her off that morning on the stairs seemed like a devastating confirmation of everything she'd been afraid of the moment after she'd kissed him and realized he wasn't kissing her back: that by giving in, just for a moment, to her tangled, confusing desires, she'd willfully driven Kurt away forever, as a friend as well whatever else he might have become.

The next time she'd seen him was the night before, at the party in the mansion's seldom-used ballroom. That night—last night—she'd been determined on two admittedly childish scores: to look spectacular and give Kurt the explicit cold shoulder. Judging by the circumstances of her waking the next morning, however, she'd only succeeded at one out of two.

Owning to her consumption of a not-insignificant amount of alcohol, the exact series of events that led to her and Kurt wrestling each other's clothes off was muddle at best. But she did remember when she first saw him. In a quiet corner of the huge room swarming with people, she saw him embroiled in an intimate conference with Ororo, eyes glittering up into her greater height, all mischievous smiles and twitching tail, wine glass balanced somehow gracefully in his ill-equipped hand. And of course he looked amazing—he always did look amazing in suits, either because he was built for them or because he was so incredibly _not_ built for them. That Ororo looked amazing was a given under any circumstance.

Unable to hear their words, Kitty viewed their interactions as a pantomime, watching as Kurt laughed, dislodging a strand of his wavy, blue-black hair that spilled over his forehead before Ororo reached up and tucked it back, long, delicate fingers lingering on the outside edge of his pointed ear.

Her first layer of reservations dampened, Kitty gulped back the last of her gin and tonic, broke off a conversation with Sam and Rachel, and made a b-line for Kurt and Ororo, moving through the maze of familiar and unfamiliar bodies with embarrassing slowness amid a torrent of welcomes, greetings, and congratulations for nothing in particular. When she was finally close enough, she flicked Kurt's tail with her finger to attract his attention. He stiffened immediately and turned quickly to face his assailant; if anything, he seemed to grow more uncomfortable when he saw her, though as usual he tried to cover it with a smile.

"I'm glad that was someone I know," he said flatly.

Ororo absorbed the tension with a look and made an excuse to leave. Kitty watched Kurt's gaze follow her almost pleadingly.

"Enjoying yourself?" Kitty asked, forcing Kurt to look at her.

"Of course," he said, smile noticeably strained. "You?"

"Why have you been avoiding me?"

"Avoiding you? I don't—"

"Really? That's what you're gonna to go with?"

Smile abandoned, Kurt shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I haven't been avoiding you. Things have just been... busy. And we're on different teams these days, which doesn't help."

"Why not be on all the teams? It works for Logan."

"I must not be as popular as he is," he offered tonelessly, undercutting the humour.

"But why the XSE?" she persisted. "Why not be with us?"

Kurt gave a half shrug. "Ororo asked me first," he said simply.

"And you've never been able to say no to her, have you?"

Kurt had just opened his mouth to respond when Logan threw an arm roughly around his neck, giving Kurt's body an affectionate shake as he peered, grinning, around his shoulder, beer in hand.

"How's my best girl, elf?"

"Fine," Kitty answered for herself, offering Logan a small, cold smile of greeting while continuing to look directly at Kurt.

Logan nudged Kurt's ribs with his beer hand. "She's grown up nice, huh? Still not much to look at, but..."

"I wouldn't say that," Kurt said softly, all but ignoring Logan as he affixed his uncanny, golden-eyed gaze securely on Kitty.

Logan hesitated, glancing from Kitty to Kurt and back again. "I was about to cut out for a smoke, elf, you wanna join me." He squeezed Kurt's shoulder as he said it to make sure Kurt knew he was doing him a favour, and that he wanted him to say yes.

"Maybe later," Kurt declined, eyes still locked on Kitty's, the intensity of his gaze broken only by the shiny strand of hair that had once again slipped out from behind his ear to half-obscure his right eye.

Logan released Kurt almost reluctantly and took his wordless leave.

Finally, Kurt said, "Can I get you another drink?"

Kitty remembered all of that. She also remembered, several drinks later, when she felt his tail tickling her ankle, heard him start to apologize, and then told him not to…

_It wasn't supposed to happen this way…_

…_but it was worth it…_

Back in the present, Kitty's fist was already closed, ready to wrap urgently on Rachel's door, scant metres down the hall. But the figure who just that moment turned the corner in front of her caused Kitty to freeze in her tracks, cold terror seizing her heart and solidifying the blood within her veins. It was Ororo.

"Hello Kitty," Ororo greeted her, beautiful mouth forming a beautiful smile. "I was just looking for you. Do you have a few minutes to chat?"

"Yeah… I mean, yes, of course. What did you—"

"If you'd like, you may come to my room. By the looks of it, the calming atmosphere will do you good."

Before she even knew what was happening, Kitty was sitting on a couch in Ororo's quarters holding a steaming white tea, surrounded by tropical plants and flowers the size of her head that had no right to bloom inside a carriage house.

Kitty was still wearing her uniform but Ororo had changed into a deep green robe, the understated elegance of which somehow made her look both more relaxed and more intimating. She poured herself into a seat on the couch across from Kitty.

"How is the tea? I grew it myself, you know—right here."

Kitty took a dutiful sip. She didn't really like tea and she was fairly sure Ororo knew it.

"It's great," she said.

"Good," said Ororo. She crossed one leg over the other and leaned back into the couch to regard Kitty squarely with her unique, impossibly large pale blue eyes. "So… Tell me—what are your intentions toward the most handsome member of my team?"

"You mean Logan?" Kitty joked bravely.

"You _know_ who I mean."

Kitty stared down into the depths of her tea. "How did you know?"

"I didn't," said Ororo. "But I saw you leave the party together last night, and I know that Kurt was more than just hungover at our training session today."

Kitty had known Ororo too long, too intimately, to lie. "Kurt and I slept together last night. It wasn't… It just sort of… happened."

"And what is happening now?"

Kitty set down her tea on the coffee table. She prevaricated for a moment, weighing her desperate need to unburden herself against her fear of Ororo. Decision made, her words poured forth like a torrent.

"God help me, Ororo, I have no idea. It's all my fault going back almost a decade and now I've screwed everything up so completely he'll probably never talk to me again and I can't bear that. I can't…" he voice hitched on the last word, forcing her to trail off.

"Oh Kitten…"

All at once, Ororo's haughty pretense melted away. She reached across to Kitty almost frantically, laying her hand tenderly but tentatively on her arm; it was a compromise gesture, as though she wanted to hug her but worried it might make everything worse. _Just like a mother_, thought Kitty.

"Don't take it all on yourself," Ororo advised her. "You don't…" She paused to discharge a silent breath, releasing Kitty's arm and settling back into her corner.

At least some of her steeliness had returned as she continued. "I should hope that you know Kurt well enough by now to know he's not above behaving like an asshole."

Kitty blinked to hear such language escape Ororo's stately lips. "Really."

"_Believe_ me. He's not… He has his excuses but they are precisely that—excuses. Sometimes, Kurt can have the mistaken impression that he has a monopoly on pain."

Kitty wondered at Ororo's conviction, wondered how much she really was speaking from experience, and what, exactly, the nature of that experience was. Suddenly, Kitty realized she'd been gone for a long time.

"But what can I do?" Kitty asked sincerely.

"That depends on you," said Ororo, eyes shifting toward her plants. "You spent the night with him, which is more than I have ever done."

Kitty's stomach fluttered, registering the bitterness in Ororo's voice. She took another sip of the tea she hated, thankful for something to occupy her unsteady hands.

"Perhaps," Ororo suggested, "you should start by considering whether you had a good time."

…_burying her face into his neck, upwards against the weight of him, desperate to be closer, to feel with every inch of her bare skin the pulse-beat of his body under the velvet-coated tautness of his acrobat's frame… shivering as his face ticked her behind her ear, making static at the back of her tongue…. still pulling him always closer, back arching upwards… sweeping her hands down his back to the base of his tail, taking it in her hand and pulling it toward her, squeezing down its length as a low animal moan accompanied an inadvertent press of fangs under her hairline…_

"Kitty?"

"I'm sorry. I was just… thinking."

"You didn't answer my question."

"I'm sorry it's just… Whether it was good or not isn't really—"

"Good sex isn't just physical," Ororo interrupted, cool eyes boring into her. "You know that as well as I."

Kitty studied Ororo's face, wondering at this new side of her, this new frankness that was at once the same and so different from what she'd known amid their often tumultuous past. It wasn't just Ororo accepting that Kitty had crossed some new threshold into adulthood; Ororo had crossed it, too, her unique combination of sensuality and prudishness having dissolved, somehow, blending into a new, confident honesty. Or at least semi-honesty; Kitty doubted whether she'd ever be privy to the details of what, exactly, Kurt had done to piss Ororo off as thoroughly as he apparently had.

"Have you talked to him?" asked Ororo, changing tracks.

"No," Kitty admitted wearily, the reality of her own problems once again descending on her shoulders. "Scott came to pick me up this morning and Kurt… Well, he wasn't there by the time I let Scott in."

"Perhaps that was for the best, under the circumstances."

"Maybe."

"Talk to him Kitten. And make _him_ talk to _you_. Do not let him charm his way out of it."

Kitty's mouth bent up slightly at one corner. "He does tend to do that, doesn't he?"

"He _does_," Ororo agreed, returning Kitty's slight smile.

They shared a lengthy, not uncomfortable silence before Ororo spoke again.

"Can I ask you, though—how long have you had these feelings?"

Kitty's mind drifted to a memory from years ago, during her early months as an X-Man. After taking down Magneto's base, they were all camped out on the beach while the qualified among them conducted repairs on the Blackbird. Seeking a moment of solitude in which to sort out her own pivotal role in the grand supervillain battle that had just taken place, Kitty was leaning against a palm tree some distance away from the main action when she saw a shadow growing large over her shoulder. The well-cut male silhouette filled in as it joined her under the tree, black fading into blue. It was Kurt, dressed in nothing but a pair of black swim briefs. He held out a bottle of water to her in his two-fingered hand.

"I thought you might be thirsty. Not very exotic, but it gets the job done."

Kitty looked past the water bottle, eyes lingering for a long moment on Kurt's velvet-coated midsection, sleek fur shiny with sweat, especially around the darker shadows of his abdominal muscles and the almost-black, impossibly soft crevice of his belly button.

In the present, Kitty said to Ororo, "It's because he doesn't see it, isn't it? He really… he has no idea."

Ororo smiled sagely. "You'd be surprised."

Kitty decided to let that comment slide. She stared down at her open palms for a prolonged, thoughtful moment. "I don't… How do you know, I mean, how do you _really_ know, the difference between loving someone and… well, _loving_ someone?"

Ororo replied immediately, as though it were the simplest question in the world. "Because you want to have sex with them."

Kitty would have laughed if she weren't already on the brink of crying, in relief as much as anything. Absorbing her distress, Ororo threw caution to the wind and closed the distance between them, gathering Kitty up in her arms as though she was still a child, or, perhaps, wishing she was. Not that Kitty was complaining; she was grateful to unload her grief, if only for a moment. Not every descent into the past was a bad thing.

"Talk to him," Ororo said again against Kitty's ear.

"I will," Kitty promised. "Really."

Ororo broke away, then, and—did Kitty imagine it?—flicked a drop of moisture from the corner of her eye.

"Good," she said. "Because if he performs as miserably in training tomorrow as he did today, I am holding _you_ responsible."

Kitty smiled wistfully, deciding, definitively, that she liked this new Ororo. "Understood."


	3. Afternoon: Kurt

**Chapter 3: Afternoon: Kurt**

_This was a mistake._

Kurt forced himself to keep thinking it, continually reminding himself of Kitty's frantic expression in bed that morning, when she'd first looked down at him smiling up at her. To say that it very explicitly reminded him of past traumas was too obvious. Sometimes, though, the most obvious answers are the correct ones.

Kurt barely feinted in time to avoid a lightning-quick, thankfully claw-free, right-handed slash from Logan. The danger barely registered against his trying to assert the supremacy of _This was a mistake_ against a dangerous, equally certain conviction: _But I would do it again._

Despite avoiding Logan's relentless attacks by increasingly narrow margins, Kurt's mind wandered. Not even the threat of his best friend accidently puncturing his spleen was enough to distract him from the fatal concoction of guilt, indecision, and longing plaguing his higher brain functions. So, setting his body on autopilot, he allowed his mind to drift, recalling the recent events leading up to his waking with a naked, dreaming Kitty Pryde nestled tenderly within his arms.

The first time he'd seen Kitty since her return had been an accident. He ran into her on the stairs as he was going down, and she was coming up, carrying a suitcase. Seeing her was so unexpected that he didn't even recognize her until the last moment, until his face was almost a foot away from hers. He took an awkward half-step backwards, staggered not because he didn't wanted to see her, but because he recognized in that moment how badly he _did_ want to see her. Also, even in her track pants and ragged sweater, her hair barely held in check by a beleaguered elastic, she looked beautiful, and Kurt experienced an almost overwhelming desire to tell her so.

He swallowed that desire, however, choosing instead to keep things carefully, deliberately platonic. He wasn't sure why, exactly—except that, short of pulling her into his arms in a desperate embrace expressing how intensely, achingly he suddenly realized he'd missed her, he didn't know what else to do.

The next time he saw her was at the party, when she once again surprised him, that time by doing something he hated: touching his tail without permission. Yet he forgot the manner of her intrusion upon being confronted with her face—and her body. If he'd thought Kitty had looked beautiful in her workout clothes, he was out of his league trying to conjure any word in English to describe how she looked in her clinging, scarlet one-shoulder cocktail dress with the heavy waves of her auburn hair spilling recklessly over her bare shoulders. It wasn't like seeing her on the stairs. Then, she had looked beautiful, so much herself that it was like wading into a cherished memory made flesh. At the party, though, she was all that and so much more, embodying the touchable present through the inescapable reality of her womanhood.

Overwhelming his alcohol-doused reservations, the proximity of her body immediately invoked a physical memory he'd spent most of the past year trying to forget: her sure hands sweeping through his damp fur as her warm, firm abdomen made contact with his, Kurt realizing he need only lean his body into hers to cross a terrifying, exciting threshold that he hadn't even known about until the moment it crackled to life under her hands. But it wasn't only that. Thinking about her, thinking about her body surrendering to his, had its own kind of appeal, like recapturing fractured pieces of a wholeness more mythical than lost.

Kitty had always had a strange effect on him; like no one else, she brought out the best and worst in his nature. On the one hand, she inspired his selflessness, helping him, through her quiet faith and support, to become, at least for a time, the leader he never believed he could be. On the other hand, however, she'd also inspired him to moments of cruelty that confirmed his darkest fears about himself. Long ago, after Kitty has wrecked the Danger Room and half the mansion fending off the demon, D'Spayre, Kurt had ganged up with Logan against her, capitalizing on her weakness to get verbal revenge for things that could only be forgiven, never forgotten. It hadn't been innocent; Kurt knew he'd fully intended the subtext when he'd mocked her already-distraught face with the words, "You certainly can dish it out." While he still wasn't certain what effect he'd hoped his words would have, he was certain that some part of him had wanted to hurt Kitty; the fact that he couldn't identify precisely which part made him feel worse, not better. In all the long years since, Kurt remained plagued by the guilt of that seemingly inconsequential encounter; it lingered as a haunting threat of the monster he might become if he surrendered to the perceptions of others.

Kurt wanted—needed—to believe he'd moved past such paralyzing conflicts. Yet seeing Kitty again, being near her again, brought it all back. He was almost angry, angry at the position she put him in trying to reconcile both his warring emotions and the inescapable longing of his body, a longing that he knew he couldn't trust. But, then, it didn't end up being a protracted battle…

_This was a mistake…_

…_But I would do it again…_

Logan could tell Kurt was distracted. Even at his worst, Kurt was one of the world's greatest acrobats, superpowered or otherwise. Certainly, the way he recovered in an instant from a floor scrapping duck out of the way of Logan's roundhouse kick to vault over Logan's shoulder would have stupefied anyone not accustomed to seeing such spectacles. Logan, of course, _was_ accustomed to seeing such spectacles; he was also accustomed to seeing them performed better. For Logan, a fight was like a chess match. His gifts and his experience let him appreciate every move and counter move as part of a pattern, each mistake within it presenting an opportunity for a potential check mate. Kurt's vault was one such mistake. It was an impressive move, but it took too much time. Kurt wasn't fighting smart, counting instead on his athleticism to save him. Which might have worked with a different opponent—but not with Logan.

Four moves later, Logan kicked Kurt's feet out from under him before slamming him to the mat with his forearm, popping his claws to a fraction of an inch from Kurt's jugular. Panting from exertion but not from fear, Kurt looked up impassively into Logan's mask-concealed eyes. For Kurt, having Logan's claws at his throat wasn't quite routine, it wasn't exactly new, either.

"I know you're hungover," said Logan, sheathing his claws and stepping away from Kurt's body. "But this is ridiculous."

"Sorry, I know," Kurt agreed, pushing himself wearily to his feet. "Maybe we should call it a day."

"Might as well," Logan assented, pulling off his mask and wiping the sweat from his face with a nearby towel. "You're not much good to me like this. Want a beer?"

"No, but I'll watch you have one."

"Garage?"

Kurt nodded and in two "bamfs" of exploding air they'd arrived. Logan tossed his towel aside and headed for the fridge.

"You sure you don't want one?"

"You really need to ask me again? After what happened back there?"

Logan shrugged, popping his cap with his claw. "I usually fight better with a few drinks in me."

"Another one of _your_ particular quirks, I assure you."

"Suit yourself."

Logan sat down sideways on the seat of his Harley. Kurt cleared a spot and hopped up on the tool counter, somewhere he'd often sat watching Logan work on various bikes, trucks, and cars over various years, eras, and crises.

Logan said bluntly, "So what's eating you, and what does it have to do with Kitty?"

Kurt's face turned immediately distraught, the mention of Kitty's name unnerving him more than Logan's claws ever could.

"How did you…"

"Didn't," said Logan. "But I do now."

Kurt rubbed the back of his neck, chagrined to be so easily duped. "Do you always have to have the upper hand?"

"Now who's asking stupid questions?"

Kurt sighed, gazing down at his white-booted feet. "Fine. It sort of began last year. I never told you because I... Well, I suppose because I wanted to believe it didn't mean anything. But when I visited Kitty last year she... kissed me."

"You guys have been close for—"

"_Not_ like that," Kurt interrupted. "I mean she _kissed_ me."

Logan took a long swallow of beer to cover his genuine surprise. "That all?"

"Then it was. I left, and I hadn't seen her since last week."

"Did you talk about it, or..."

"Not..." Kurt shook his head guiltily. "We tried but... I had no idea what to do. I mean, it's _Kitty_. I didn't..."

"You're not still weird about—"

"No. I mean... I didn't think so."

"But...?"

"Last night we..." Kurt's tail slashed nervously where it hung down over the counter. "I slept with Kitty last night."

Logan worked hard to fight down the shocked expression he'd ever-so-briefly allowed to overtake his features, suddenly grateful that Kurt was still avoiding his eyes.

"That explains why she didn't wake up for training," he said at last, voice hollower than he intended.

"I was there when Scott came to get her," Kurt confirmed. "Really, it was a relief. Things were... not great this morning."

"For you or for her?"

"I don't know," Kurt said truthfully. "Both, I think."

"Was this just a drunk thing?"

"Maybe. No. I... I don't know."

"You're just full of answers, aren't you?"

"I'm sorry. I'm not... Last night it felt..."

… _Kurt wasn't even aware of the tip of his tail brushing against her bare ankle until he noticed her reaction, which suddenly made him realize he'd been doing it deliberately. That was also when he realized he'd had too much to drink._

_ "I'm—"_

_ "Don't be."_

_ And that was when he knew he was in over his head…_

"Elf?"

"Anyway, I was drunk but I wasn't _that_ drunk."

"Obviously."

Kurt looked at him for the first time since landing on the mat, pathetically exasperated. "Really, you're not helping."

Logan snorted. "Sorry."

Kurt pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his forearms around them, tail curling around his feet. "You know what it's like. Our relationship is... complicated. Things have been fine... good... _great_ between us for years now. I really did think I'd gotten over the past. But when she kissed me..."

Kurt trailed off, half-finished thoughts dissipating into the cavernous silence. When he finally continued, there was a painful, deadly sincerity to his voice; it was the voice of a man in desperate need of absolution.

"I ran away because I didn't trust her desire," he said. "But now... now I'm wondering if I can trust my own."

"What do you mean? 'Cause of your friendship, or..."

Kurt shook his head gravely. "It's not that. I'm just... I don't know. We have this history together. She was so… Well, you know how she was when we first met. I forgave her years ago, of course, but I'd be lying if… if I didn't admit it still bothered me, somewhere in the back of my mind. So I'm worried… What if I slept with her not because I _wanted_ to but... to prove that I _could_?"

Logan didn't respond. Kurt looked at him, staring down sightlessly at his beer, disturbingly still.

"Logan?"

"Get out," he said. The low rumble of his words carried a hint of menace Kurt easily recognized; it was not a tone Logan used with his friends.

Kurt lowered his knees and waited three heartbeats for a punch line that never came. "What did you—"

"You heard me."

Kurt blinked, still too stunned to decide how to respond. "I don't believe this. After all the times I've—"

"That girl's like a daughter to me, Kurt."

Kurt's jumped to his feet, nostrils flaring in sudden anger. "And what do you think she is to—" He stopped himself just short of finishing his damning sentence and swallowed hard, anger redirected against himself.

Finally, Logan looked up at him, grey eyes a mask of dispassion. "You know, you look like your mom when you're angry."

"_Fuck_ you. Even for you that's—"

"If the shoe fits," Logan quipped.

"And I guess you would know," said Kurt, meeting Logan's chill, menacing eyes head-on. "So, you sleep with my mother and I sleep with your 'daughter'—doesn't that make us even?"

"That was before I knew you."

"That's comforting. How many years?"

"Don't go there."

"Why?"

"I'm not your father, Kurt."

Kurt crossed his arms over his chest. "You could have fooled me."

Their eyes locked for long, tense, seconds, hurtful anger crackling between them, the anger of two people who know each other well enough to know exactly where to strike. Finally, Logan dropped his gaze, acknowledging his defeat.

"Fine," he said. "Point taken. But seriously, Kurt—what the _fuck_ did you think you were doing?"

Kurt sighed deeply, dropping his shoulder exhaustedly against the wall. "I don't know," he said. "All I know is that she's different. She's changed. Last night she was so…"

_...Kitty pulling him roughly toward her with the same motion that slammed the door closed, attacking the buttons on his shirt before looping her hands under his belt buckle… the warm collision with her pelvis as he clumsily shucked off her dress's single strap… pinning her against the wall with the weight of his body, wanting, needing, to feel his skin touching every inch of hers, especially the yielding softness of her breasts, the lace trim of her bra rubbing maddeningly against his fur… tongue reaching deep into her mouth, holding the back of her neck and her hip, his hand sliding under her thigh, naked under what was left of her clinging dress, lifting her leg and her body pouring into his like water... _

"She's not a little girl anymore, Logan."

"You sure about that?"

Kurt didn't answer, staring down at the tip of his tail dancing between his feet.

"Do you remember when she first came?" he said at last. "She was thirteen and seemed eleven."

"But girls become women," Logan pointed out.

"She's twenty-one, now. I'm twenty-nine."

Logan snorted. "You're _both_ children."

Kurt looked up, a grin tugging at his lips, despite everything. "Whatever you say, old man."

"You don't honestly think—"

"_God_, no. Do _you_?"

"To be honest, I hadn't really thought about it."

Kurt arched an eyebrow. "Really? How could you _not_? Everyone's parentage is one ironic twist after another around here."

"You don't _look_ like me."

"Logan—I don't look like _anybody_."

"Except—"

Kurt forestalled him with a raised hand. "One reminder is enough for today, I think."

Logan forced down the last swallow of his warm beer. "Would there were enough of these to erase this conversation from my mind."

"The feeling's mutual, believe me."

Setting down his empty bottle on the floor, Logan grew suddenly thoughtful. "There's so much from my life I don't remember. And I don't get to choose. There are some things—horrible things—that are crystal clear, and others… There must be lots of good stuff I don't remember. I mean… There must be, right? But it gets me thinking—if you had a choice, if you could choose what you remember, and what gets lost…"

Kurt considered his friend's face, pondering his new turn. "You're asking... Would I choose to forget last night?"

"Your words, not mine."

Kurt took his time responding. He looked down, then back up, affixing Logan with his depthless, glowing eyes that still managed to convey so much, especially to a best friend.

"No," he said finally, truthfully.

"Then you'd better talk to her."

"Ja, I know. I just hope she'll want to talk to _me_."

"You don't know 'till you try. And it's a small campus when it comes to avoiding someone twenty-four hours a day, two-hundred and three end-of-the-world crises a year."

Kurt nodded, and started to make his exit.

"And Kurt?" Logan called after him. "Whatever happens, don't forget I'm still pissed at you."

Kurt eyed him, but even he couldn't determine the seriousness of the threat. For once, however, he decided not to push the issue.


	4. Evening

**Chapter 4: Evening **

Kitty left Ororo's quarters with a light heart that grew heavier the closer she approached her own. Once inside, the whole thing started to seem ludicrous, her conversation with Ororo as much a dream as the skin-shivering sensation of Kurt's fang glancing off her exposed nipple…

Kitty sat down at her desk, eyeing her ghostly reflection in her black computer monitor. Back in her old room, back in her old uniform, it was as though she'd never left. Suddenly, she had a discomforting notion that perhaps time hadn't passed at all, that perhaps after all she was still thirteen and Kurt a worldly seeming twenty-one, an obscure presence compared to the fire of her heart, nineteen-year-old Peter Rasputin. Kitty's eyes dropped to the photo next to the monitor, to Peter's long-ago eyes, twinkling blue-grey above a faint, serious smile. While she continued to miss him every day of her life, his loss was no longer an open sore, becoming instead a permanent scar she had learned to live with.

Lockheed picked that moment to make himself known, flying down noisily from the top of the bookshelf to land on the desk next to Peter's photo. He looked from the photo to Kitty and back, beady eyes reflecting a disconcerting consciousness.

"I know you miss Peter," said Kitty. "He liked you, too. But he's gone now. You know that."

Beyond Peter's photo there was a group shot of her with the X-Men in uniform, pre-Excalibur. Kitty was hoisted up on Peter's massive, armoured shoulder, her face beaming with proud excitement and just a hint of teenage nerves. Peter's other hand was laid companionably on Kurt's much lower shoulder. Kitty's vision narrowed on the photo, and on Peter's hand especially. There was something about it, something about the way he gripped Kurt's shoulder, enlarged silver fingers dwarfing Kurt's lean muscles. It wasn't just companionable; it was almost paternalistic or, worse—like an owner with a beloved pet. It wasn't malicious, or even conscious; it just was. And really, looking at them together, remembering them, Peter's seven foot tall metalized body towering over Kurt's not-quite-six-foot indigo-furred one, the distinction seemed clear. Or, it _had_ seemed clear. At that time, Peter's body had eclipsed Kurt's to the point where she'd neglected what should have been the obvious reality of Kurt's manhood. That she'd never consciously recognized any attraction to Kurt in the past was complicated by the fact that she'd never considered it a possibility.

Not that it was all her fault. In those early days, Kurt tended to play up his body and his abilities for comedy, preferring, not unsurprisingly, to be liked above all else. It seemed so obvious in retrospect, the change that had come over him after leaving the X-Men and joining Excalibur. Except that she knew now that he hadn't changed at all, just become more like himself, his real self, not the man behind the mutation but the man _with_ the mutation. Peter had accepted the difference over time, as had most people who knew him well. Yet amid the never-ending crises that besieged them after they returned to the X-Men from Excalibur, it was sometimes easier to surrender to old patterns. Small wonder that Kurt had suffered an identity crisis, culminating in what Kitty still believed to be Kurt's self-destructive quest to join the priesthood.

"But you like Kurt, don't you?" Kitty asked Lockheed, who made a skeptical face.

"C'mon," she urged. "After all the times he's pulled your fat from the fire? I know he doesn't like pets but that's only because…"

Kitty didn't have time to finish her thought, interrupted by a heart-wrenching, déjà vu-inducing knock on the door. Even before she opened it, she knew it was Kurt. Like her, he was still wearing his uniform, but with a black Xavier Academy hooded sweatshirt, zipped up halfway, and a black leather bomber jacket over that. He held out her cropped black pea coat and grey cashmere scarf.

"You'll need these," he said simply.

Wordlessly, she slipped on the jacket and made two loose coils of scarf around her neck before accepting Kurt's proffered white-gloved hand. She clenched her teeth as she always did when anticipating the familiar "bamf" of Kurt's teleportation, steeling herself against the stomach-churning sensation that, for her at least, never seemed to get much better with practice. Not for the first time, she wondered how it really was for Kurt, if he really was used to it or if, like so many other things in his life, he'd simply learned long ago how to convincingly lie about it.

They materialized outside, about half a mile down the low stone wall that ran along the borders of the institute's expansive grounds. It was early evening, the sun glowing a deep orange as it approached the distant horizon. There was a stiff wind in the air, cool but just short of biting; it howled low and mournfully over the empty space, whistling through the long grass beyond the fence and rattling the trees' remaining dry leaves as it went.

Kurt turned to her, wind blowing the thick waves of his blue-black hair around his face. The space under his eyes and the hollows of his cheeks slipped in and out of shadow in the advancing twilight, his eyes glowing brighter against the dark. Kitty loved that face but she hated the mystery of it here and now; she wondered if it was part of Kurt's plan to talk outside where he knew his expressions would be more inscrutable.

"Walk with me?" he asked at last.

Kitty nodded, thrusting her bare hands into her pockets.

They walked for some time until they arrived at a section of fence decorated with loosely arranged triangular rocks along the top edge, the result of many decades of carefree labour by countless other walkers on countless other nights, mornings, afternoons.

"Watch this," Kurt alerted her before leaping effortlessly up onto the loose stones. He proceeded to perform a tightrope walk across them, white-booted feet balancing carefully as each stone shifted precariously under his toes.

"Is that all you've got?" Kitty taunted.

"Tough crowd," quipped Kurt. He paused, briefly, for dramatic effect, before performing a seemingly effortless balance-bar backflip. The stones rattled under his feet as he landed but ultimately maintained their precarious alignment. Kurt made a dramatic bow to his lonely audience, who merely shrugged.

"I'm sure that _would_ be impressive," she said. "But I know this guy—Nightcrawler, aka Kurt Wagner—and he's doing stuff like that all the time."

Kurt performed another gold medal-perfect flip as he rejoined her on the ground.

"I understand your dilemma. I'll have to seek out less discerning audiences in future."

"That would be for the best."

"I guess we should talk," he said after they'd walked in silence for a few more minutes.

"About what? Sports? Politics? The weather?"

"You're really not going to make this easy, are you?"

"I don't..." Kitty ground her teeth together in frustration as she trailed off. She stopped walking and turned toward the wall, leaning her outstretched hands against the cool, rough stone.

"I'm sorry," she started again after a moment. "I'm not trying to be a bitch. Honestly. Except that I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel. Part of me feels like I should be angry, and the other part of me feels like I should be apologizing for something. Which just makes me angrier."

Kurt sighed as he joined her by the wall. "I know what you mean. Except I don't feel angry. More... guilty. And sorry. Which makes me feel more guilty. I... I am sorry, Katzchen. For whatever that's worth."

"You don't have to... Sorry for what? For sleeping with me?"

"I... no..." Kurt fumbled, hands twisting inside his pockets. "Okay, yes, a little."

"I'm an _adult_, Kurt. I can make my own—"

"I know. I know that I just—"

"Just what? Just had Logan tell you that I'm a delicate flower and that you're an evil monster for defiling me?"

Kurt looked away awkwardly.

"Oh my God..." she said, a low chuckle rising in her throat despite herself. "Did that actually _happen_?"

"It's not important," Kurt mumbled, still avoiding her eyes.

"Oh Kurt..." Kitty sympathized, her dark humour evaporating. "You do know that... I _wanted_ what we did. And I mean you... Well, you certainly _seemed_ like you..." She trailed off, made suddenly nervous by Kurt's continued silence.

"I mean," she began again. "You _did_ want to... didn't you?"

Kurt hesitated for another long, painful moment. When he finally looked up at her, Kitty didn't need to see his pupils to feel the intensity of his gaze.

"With all my heart," he said earnestly.

Kitty stood riveted for long seconds in the orbit of his glowing eyes before blinking her own gaze away. She removed her hands from the wall and turned away from him, wrapping her arms tightly around her upper body.

"I'm sorry. Did I—"

"No," she interrupted quickly. "No, I just..."

She felt the heat of his body behind her before he laid a cautious hand of her shoulder, squeezing tenderly with his thumb and large, strong fingers, so different from the way he'd touched her days before after their encounter on the stairs. Kitty clenched her eyes shut, heartsick that she couldn't allow herself to sink back into his embrace. After a moment, she shrugged herself out of his grip and put several decisive steps of distance between them.

"I can't... I need to..." she shook her head as her words dried up in her throat. A thick strand of hair escaped her ponytail and she took her time tying it back.

"Why did you leave that night Kurt?" she asked at last, staring sightlessly out across the field. "Why... after you _promised_..."

"I... I couldn't stay," he offered pathetically.

She turned to look at him, brow crinkled with hurt and frustration. "So you just... left? I mean, what the hell, Kurt! What world are you living in that you thought that was be a good idea?"

Kurt ran a frustrated hand through his own blowing hair. "I knew it was a bad idea," he said. "I _knew_. But there wasn't... I didn't know what else to do!"

"I can think of at least a _million_ things that would have been better than—"

"I was scared, okay?" he interjected. "I was... God, Katzchen, I was _terrified_."

"Of _what_, Kurt?" she pleaded, closing some of the distance between them. "_Why_ is this so scary to you?"

"I..." Kurt's lips twitched with unspoken words before he finally shook his head angrily to forestall the effort, turning away from her again. "You see, I left precisely so we would not have to have this conversation."

"This isn't a conversation!" she shouted at his retreating back. "It's an argument!"

"Fine!" he returned, eyes burning as he met her gaze. "You want the truth? I'm not over it, okay, how things were between us when we first met. I've _never_ been over it. I'm angry and insecure and I don't know how to deal with it except to know I'm happier _not_ dealing with it. There. Are you happy? Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Yes!" Kitty shot back. "Now we're getting finally _getting_ somewhere."

Kurt uttered a grumble of annoyance as he pivoted away again. Over the course of a protracted minute, she watched his angry silence grow slowly thoughtful, his jerking tail calming itself into low, sweeping curves.

"Talk to me, Kurt," she pleaded gently. "Please."

"What do you want me to say?" he asked wearily.

"Tell me... about Florida."

Kurt's tail missed a beat. "How do you know about—"

"I don't," she lied. "That is, I mean, I don't know much."

Kurt shook his head. "There's nothing to tell. It was... a long time ago. Why do you—"

"Because I'm... Because I'm trying to understand. To me you're so..." she struggled with the words, with how to convey to the master of self-deprecation exactly how godlike he'd often appeared to her. "I just can't imagine you ever being that helpless," she finished lamely.

Kurt turned to her. Even amid the shadows concealing his face, it was easy to make out his expression's exaggerated skepticism. "You're sure you're not confusing me with someone else? Logan, perhaps? Or maybe Ororo?"

"Kurt... I'm being serious."

"Serious. Sure."

Kitty fell silent, humbled and annoyed.

Finally, Kurt seemed to acknowledge his unfairness. "I won't tell you about Florida," he said. "Maybe someday, but not now. But I will tell you about something else."

He came toward her, walking just past to the oak tree that arched its rattling limbs over the fence. He leaned back against its trunk, hands buried deep in his pockets. Kitty joined him there, pressing her shoulder lightly against his.

"I was twelve when I first teleported," he began after a moment. "I was in the middle of practising a trapeze maneuver, and I missed the bar. Not a big deal, there was a net to catch me. But instead of falling I found myself back on the platform. I sat there, frozen, for at least fifteen minutes, wondering if it had really happened, or if I was going insane. And, of course, debating whether I dared risk trying to repeat it. Finally, though, I made my choice. I concentrated on a spot on the ground below and before I even knew it I was there, heart hammering, stomach churning, but still, I had done it, I had repeated it so I knew I wasn't crazy."

"I know the feeling," she lamented.

"I didn't tell anyone else for weeks," Kurt continued. "I practiced in secret, figuring out my limitations. When I finally told Jimaine, she asked me why I'd waited so long to tell her. I realized then that I'd been afraid. She and my mother—really, no one at the circus—had ever made me feel like an outsider, despite everything. Yet with this new development... What if there were more changes? Wasn't I different _enough_ from everyone around me?"

He removed his hands from his pockets. Slowly, thoughtfully, he pulled off his right hand glove, exposing his two-fingered, blue-furred hand in front of him—in front of her.

"You know—I'm the only person in the entire world, on all of planet earth, who has a hand like this, who has these fingers, this fur... The only person who is even the same _colour_ of blue is... Well, the less said about _her_, the better. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is... When I first started teleporting, it was the first time that I did worry there might be some doubt about my humanity. I mean, my appearance was one thing. But teleporting? It was like magic, magic that I could do just by thinking about it. Surely, nothing human could do _that_."

In the silence that ensued, Kitty reached out and touched the hand he still held out in front of them, running the tips of her smaller finders along the edge of his larger ones. She felt the two wide bones under the veins against the back of his hand, making invisible trails through his ultra-fine fur before covering his whole hand with hers, squeezing tightly.

"It was a long time ago," said Kurt, staring impassively at their joined hands. "It really doesn't matter."

Kitty released his hand as he lowered it, returning it to his pocket.

"But all these things… they do matter, don't they?"

"I... Yes," he admitted reluctantly. He tilted his head upwards, talking to the branches, or maybe the spiteful heavens beyond. "But I hate it. You have no idea how I hate… _talking_ this way. This is why I don't like to _start_ talking about it in this first place. I _hate_ feeling sorry for myself. And yet, when I start looking at my life, from being tossed over a cliff by my mother on downwards…"

"You don't think we all feel like that?"

"Yes," he said. "But not the same way I do."

Kitty remembered Ororo's warning about Kurt believing he had a monopoly on pain, yet she had to admit that in this instance, he was probably right. Even unlike herself, Kurt had always known his difference, as inescapable as the back of his hand.

"It's hard to believe," he said, "But when I first met the Professor, one of the first things I asked him was if he could make me 'normal.'"

"Why would you want..." Kitty stopped herself, realizing, guiltily, that she'd spoken without thinking. "I'm sorry, I..."

"No," he assured her, smiling softly. "It's okay. It was a stupid question, and a stupid desire. The Professor told me so as well. But when an angry mob is ready to drive a stake through your heart, your mind tends to play tricks on you."

"I just can't imagine your wanting that," she said. "To be... What? Not a mutant? Or just not to look like one?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "At that time, it might have been worth it to me to give everything up. If I could have given up teleporting, and my tail, and all my athleticism, and just gone home to hold Jimaine in my arms and tell her everything was all right, that it would be all right from now on… to be able to _protect_ her rather than be the cause of her danger... It might have been worth it."

"And now?" she asked, her voice smaller than she intended.

"Now?" he echoed, glowing eyes meeting hers in the twilight. "Now I'm here. With you."

Kitty shuttered her eyes as she fought back a heavy lump in her throat.

"Katzchen...?"

"I'm fine," she managed. "I'm just… just a little cold."

She dropped her head to his shoulder and Kurt, hesitating only slightly, slipped his arm around her, squeezing her gently against his body. They stayed that way for several minutes, watching the sun finally disappear over the horizon, a surer cloak of darkness washing over them.

"We should go back," he said at last.

"Yeah," she agreed, sweeping her hand across her eyes as she pulled reluctantly away from him.

"The fast way, or..."

"If I have to."

"It's really not that bad."

Kitty frowned. "If you like feeling like you're about to lose a week's worth of lunches."

"You're exaggerating," Kurt scoffed.

"Am I?"

"It's also really _fun_, though."

"I'm sure I've said this before, but you have a weird idea of 'fun.'"

Kurt grinned, looking especially devilish with the bright white of his fanged teeth and the flashlight glow of his eyes standing out so starkly against his shadowed face. "I'll take that as a compliment. Hang on tight."

Kitty sucked in a breath of air that she released as a shriek of surprise as she materialized 100 feet in the air with no ground beneath her feet. Or at least that's what it seemed like at first; in fact, they were atop the narrow opening of one of the mansion's several unused chimneys.

As soon as she'd regained enough of her balance, Kitty turned into Kurt's body and punched him at least half-seriously in the chest.

"Asshole!" she hissed. "Seriously!"

Kurt merely smiled, unconcerned by her anger. "Even if I _weren't_ here to protect you, you're perfectly capable of handling yourself."

"That's not the point!"

"Now you're just looking for reasons to complain," he admonished. "Besides, you should be thanking me."

"Thanking…"

Kitty trailed off as she followed his gaze and the prompting of his body to look out across the grounds, where the sun's last hurrah lit up the field with a hot, dark orange fire. Each blade of grass was like a leaping flame, clinging to life with all the desperation of a wounded animal whose soul burned brightest in the moment before the end of everything. Kitty felt her heart drop into her gut, feeling as small against the breadth of the horizon as within the encircling cage of Kurt's strong arms and one-of-a-kind hands. The slow, faint thumping of his heartbeat resounded against her back, his face and lips tickling the back of her neck under her ponytail. In just a few seconds, it was all over.

"Okay," she breathed, thoroughly placated. "I forgive you."

Kitty closed her eyes and leaned back into Kurt's chest as he teleported them again, this time back into Kitty's room. There, they stood together for another long moment, Kurt's breath warm against Kitty's neck, her hands covering his, holding tight to her body.

"What now?" he finally whispered against her ear.

Kitty hesitated, realizing they hadn't really solved anything. All she knew for sure was that she felt cold and all of Kurt's clothing was keeping her from the preferable warmth of his naked, indigo fur.

She pivoted in his arms to face him. But she didn't feel up to meeting his gaze. Instead, pressing her abdomen against his, she reached her hands up into the soft waves of his wind-tousled hair, leaned forward, and touched his forehead with hers. Their heads made a roof over their uniformed bodies, bodies that were at once too familiar and so very, very new.

"I just… there's so much I need to know," she said at last. "I year ago—a _day_ ago—I thought I knew you so well."

"So ask," he said softly, his hands warm in the small of her back.

"What was the first time you made love?"

"You mean had sex?"

"You know what I mean."

"By the lake. With Jimaine. I was sixteen. You?"

"With Peter. In my bedroom. Fifteen."

She felt his tail brush the back of her thigh, making a loose, winding curve around her leg.

"How do you… Do you tell it to do that or does it just…"

She felt Kurt smile. "If you had a tail you'd know what a foolish question that is."

"But…"

"It's like any other body part. It just… works."

"What does it… feel like?"

"Feel like?" he echoed.

"Is it like hands, or…"

Kurt silenced her with a slow, deep kiss.

"You're just trying to shut me up…" she teased as they came up for air.

He kissed her again, the dull edge of his fang running along the outside edge of her tongue as her released her, tugging lingeringly on her bottom lip.

"It's just… sometimes you learn better by doing, ja?"

Kitty plunged gratefully into a deeper embrace, hips pressing against his. As they kissed, she discarded her coat and scarf while somehow also managing to do most of the work of liberating Kurt from his jacket, sweatshirt, and of course his gloves. She was just starting in at the zipper of his uniform when he stopped her, gripping her shoulders and stepping out from under her hands.

"Wait," he said. "Last night was so… I want to do this slowly."

He had pulled away enough to look at her, but Kitty still felt unable to meet his gaze. She bit her lip on the inside, heart hammering, suddenly more nervous in his presence than she'd ever thought possible.

"What are you…"

"Shhh…" Kurt laid a finger against her lips. "Relax."

Sliding his hands up her back into her hair, Kurt removed her hair elastic, his wide fingers stroking through the tangled strands of loosened hair before tucking them loosely behind her ears. His thumb traced the curve of her ear before tickling over her neck on the way to the front zipper of her uniform. Taking the zipper between his finger and thumb, he slowly, deliberately opened it down the front of her body, from her throat down to her hips. His hands slid inside, over her ribs, to the clasp of her sports bra.

"May I?"

"I… yes…" Kitty faltered, mortified by her hesitancy. In the course of minutes, the tables had turned, and it was Kitty whose insecurity stood revealed. She had been ready for an argument, just as she had longed to re-experience the weight of his velvet body sliding against hers. But this was different. This was full disclosure in the light of sobriety. Yet she wanted so badly to live up to the challenge, wanted so badly to prove Kurt had underestimated her, her compassion and her feelings, and especially her maturity.

Kurt undid Kitty's bra clasp and slipped her shoulders out of her uniform. He traced his thumb along the length of her clavicle before sinking down between the gap of her exposed breasts, tracing a straight line all the way to her navel before sliding his hands around her hips, outside the band of her underwear.

"How is it sober?" she asked, only half-joking.

"Better," Kurt said truthfully. "Much, much better."

Kitty swallowed. "But you have me at a disadvantage."

Kurt released Kitty's hips and stepped back, palms open, supplicating. "Be my guest."

Kitty reached bravely for his zipper, sliding it down smoothly, exposing a wide, triangular swath of fine indigo fur. She ran her hands along the length of his arms, feeling his shifting muscles under her fingers, as she removed the rest of the top half of his uniform. Once he was half-naked she paused, considering. There were so many memories tied up in that body, so many fantasies and so many nightmares. They bled into each other, creating something more than a man, an idea that was not Kurt, that had nothing to do with the reality of the body before her, chest rising and falling, breathing quickly in response to what Kitty suddenly knew to be much the same mixture of fear and excitement currently gripping her own heart, mind, and gut. And that's when all the memories, fantasies, and nightmares dissolved, becoming only Kurt, only the man standing before her now willing to confront all those things, all the mistakes and missteps of a shared past and the darkness of his own heart, just to be with her.

Laying one hand on his chest and the other on his shoulder, she brought her body forward to meet his, her smooth pink stomach pressing gently, tantalizingly, against his rough-soft indigo one. Gradually, she felt herself relaxing into him, into the combined familiarity and newness of his beautiful, strange, beloved body.

"Well?" he asked softly.

"What?"

"How is it sober?"

Kitty traced her hand across his upper body, moving over the firm curves of his velvet-coated muscles and circling his blue-black nipples before arriving at a particular spot she remembered, the dark, taught, impossibly soft crevice of his belly button.

"Better," she said. "So much better."

As she leaned up to kiss him, she moved her hands up his back, gently upwards against the grain of his fur with her fingernails and then quickly down again with the flat of her hand. Kurt sighed gratefully into her mouth as he slid his hands back inside her uniform, clutching her body securely against his as his tail tightened around her thigh, still clothed in the remnants of her uniform.

"You really are a sucker for that, aren't you?" she whispered between kisses.

"You see?" he breathed back huskily against her lips. "You know me better already."

The remainder of their uniforms managed to find their way to the floor by the time they stumbled over to the bed, Kurt pulling Kitty down on top of him. She lingered there for a moment before sliding down to kiss a slow path back up his body, touching, petting, stroking everywhere as she went. Kurt was like putty under her hands, awash with sighs and moans of pleasure by the time her face returned to his and he was able to reach up hungrily for her lips, her breasts, her hips and thighs. When he arched his back to slide into her, his tail entwined itself around her upper body, coiling around her waist with the final, fork-tipped section cupping her left breast. Kitty touched Kurt's tail where it touched her, subtly tightening, shifting and relaxing as she moved her hips against him, stroking the curves it made around her and bending forward to take the smooth tip into her mouth, in concert with Kurt's movement within her, her movement around him.

Afterwards, Kitty lay collapsed against his chest, tracing delicate patterns against his ribs, stupefied by the beautiful synchronicity of their chests filling and emptying against each another.

"I haven't seen that dragon of yours recently…"

"He knows when to stay out of sight."

"Comforting."

"He likes you."

"How sentient is he? I mean really."

"Sentient enough to like you."

Kurt made a small, amused sound under her ear.

After a moment, he said, "I'm so happy you came back."

Kitty's hand froze against his side, surprised by his sudden confession.

"Are you… Would you have come to find me?" she asked. "I mean, if I didn't…"

"That depends. Do you still have my watch?"

"I lost it."

"What—really?"

"Well… On purpose."

"Oh."

Dutifully abandoning his levity, Kurt released a long, slow breath that broke the synchronicity of their breathing. "I don't know whether I would have come back," he admitted. "But… I hope so."

A cold wave stirred Kitty's skin, Kurt's body suddenly seeming very far away.

"Do you think we ever get over it?" she asked, voice small in the quiet room.

"Over… what?"

"Everything. Growing up, being mutants… everything."

"Oh Katzchen… mein prinzessin… It's not so bad."

"How can you say that after everything we just… Eight years we've been fighting this fight and for what? You still can't walk down the street without being chased with pitchforks, and I can't manage to take three years off from saving the world to finish my college degree."

To her surprise, Kurt laughed. Not ironically, but deeply and genuinely, his chest rumbling under her ear. Kitty pushed herself up and stared down incredulously at his beatific, smiling face.

"What's so funny?"

"It's just… Walking down a street? Finishing a college degree? Anyone can do those things. But how many people get to walk across the plains of alien worlds, or apprentice in the labs of some of the world's greatest geniuses? All things considered, I think we have it pretty good."

Kitty blinked, thrown off by his sudden though familiar optimism. And by the fact that she agreed with him.

"How do you do that?" she asked wonderingly. "An hour ago you were all tortured by the sight of your own hand."

Kurt's calm smile widened. "Must be the miracle of post-coital bliss."

Kitty stroked the side of his face with her hand, fingers running over the edge of his blue-black eyebrow, the darker-indigo shadows around his gleaming golden eyes, and the sharp, firm line of his cheekbone, thumb sinking into the shallow hollow beneath. Her vision filled with his face and body, Kitty found herself marvelling at the reality of his presence, at the unbelievable privilege of having him there, in her bed, under her body, in her hands. It felt like she'd been waiting for such a moment for a very long time, for longer than she could even recall. For what seemed like the umpteenth time that day, she felt her throat tighten.

"Oh Kurt…" her voice cracked on his name. She sank quickly back into his embrace, hiding her damp eyes against his chest.

"Why is it my jokes always do this to you?" Kurt chided, stroking her back and nuzzling the top of her head through her hair. "Give me the benefit of the doubt—English is not my first language, you know."

Now it was Kitty's turn to laugh, which she did, large and relieved, wiping away tears with her hand and against his fur.

"I'm sorry," she managed after a moment. "It's just… it's been an emotional day."

"I know," he assured her, thumb weaving figure-eights between her vertebrae.

Kitty didn't know how long they lay there, enjoying each other's bodies, breathing re-synchronizing, before she finally fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep. Just before losing consciousness, though, she experienced a brief flicker of panic, realizing: tomorrow, she would wake up in Kurt's arms for the second day in a row. What did that mean? One night of drunken passion was one thing but… Had things gotten any simpler, or had they become infinitely more complicated?

But then she felt the now-familiar sinuous, velvet-coated pressure of Kurt's tail twining itself around her thigh, and realized she didn't care. Tomorrow was tomorrow's problem. Right now, she was exactly where she wanted to be, and it had taken far too long to get there not to be thankful for every moment, every touch, every smell, sound, and feeling.

Making what felt like a long-lost home in the hollow of Kurt's body, Kitty slept.

~END…?~

**If you liked this one, be sure to check out Part 3: _Whole into Parts_!**


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